


Engravings.

by BabyinaFlannel18



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Castiel Gets His Wings Back, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel’s hand print, Conversations in the Impala (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, DeanCas - Freeform, Dean’s soul is marked by Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Empty Deal is mentioned, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Episode: s14e08 Byzantium, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, First Love, First Time, Full power Castiel, Grace-Soul Bonding (Supernatural), Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), casdean - Freeform, light fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyinaFlannel18/pseuds/BabyinaFlannel18
Summary: If Dean Winchester had to name things that he held extremely close to his heart, it would be a pretty short list; his little brother Sam, his Impala—Baby, a certain tan trenchcoat wearing angel. That’s abou—Oh, and a nicely baked Apple pie.The day he’d think about someone while eating pie would be the day that Dean would’ve fallen in love. Deeply. With all of his broken, tattered heart.But one rare, quiet night, when the world wasn’t immediately ending, Dean spotted the initials carved on the library table. Sam, Dean and Mary. The  Winchesters. A proud mark of claiming and belonging to the bunker.But something just felt amiss. And when Castiel sat opposite him as he cleaned his gun, with that almost-smile of his—Dean knew just what.In other words, Dean decided that it’s finally the time Castiel had his initials engraved rightfully with the Winchesters, and maybe come clean about how he would probably give up Apple Pie if Cas asked him to.But the angel has confessions of his own to make, and while some of them may coincide with Dean’s, some are completely  heartbreaking.And Dean’s heart can’t take anymore damage before collapsing into itself.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	1. Apple Pie(s).

_“Welcome to the End.”_

Dean remembered the shiver that had drawn down his spine when God— ** _Chuck_** , as the bastard liked to be called, had uttered those words. They had been absolute, laced with _lordly_ authority, leaving no room for fight and Dean knew they’d screwed up pretty damn bad this time. Pissed off G.O.D himself. There were only so many ways that _this_ couldend.

It had only been a week after Jack, who’d apparently ingrained the stupidity of his adoptive fathers, had swallowed the Occultum and gotten himself a free pass to Eden. That day had been a whole load of batshit crazy, with Anael being a deceiving bitch, their trip to the pit for a big, steaming pile of bupkis, Cas being the reckless SOB that he was and almost dying, their conspicuous, stick-up-their-ass doppelgängers showing up and freaking hellhounds hot on their ass. He hated them Satan’s oversized pups, they were a hot-bubbling pain in the ass.

 ** _Quite literally—_ ** _Dean would know._

The only good thing about this entire fiasco was the fact that Jack had his soul back, and the kid was…well, _their_ kid again. Dean still had a hard time completely forgiving the nephilim for what he did to Mary, but seeing Jack’s extremely guilt ridden face and the obvious pain in his tear-glazed eyes had been enough for him to know how truly sorry the younger man was. It was enough for him to stow away his anger and grudges for now. He could deal with that later. Preferably with a bottle of single malt or picking up a pretty girl who knew her way with the tongue. Hell, maybe both.

Now that was something which his twenty-seven year old self would’ve done, distracted himself with women and booze to escape the crapshow that was his life. But of course, the causes of his grief and anger used to be much less cosmic back then. Mostly, it was his Dad constantly abandoning him and Sammy, not trusting them enough and rummaging around for any lead on Azazel, that yellow-eyed piece of shit demon. He needed a break from it all, once in a while and this was the only way he knew how. Sam never had that problem, he had better coping mechanisms. He didn’t need alcohol in his system to talk about stuff. Didn’t need desperately frequent one-night stands to strive his touch-starved body. Still, those things had always managed to help—hell, even comfort him back then.

But he just wasn’t that man anymore.

Sure, even at forty he was just as gorgeous as one of those male modelling pricks on Calvin Klein Billboards. Pretty green eyes and a practiced, smooth-talking tongue made sure he had a lady in his bed by the end of the night. But somewhere down the road, casual hookups just stopped being exciting. Don’t get him wrong, the sex part was awesome( _usually_ ), but the high after, that used to detach him from reality began wearing off sooner as the years went by. He’d convinced himself it being another side effect of aging, but nestled deep inside his soul was the real reason, waiting desperately to surface onto his skin. For years now. But of course, as always there just **_wasn’t_** time. One world ending bull crap after other, overpowered douchebags raining hell without a room for breathing. So yeah, **_“feelings”_** weren’t really on Dean’s priority list for a long, long time.

What was though, was cleaning up his trusted Colt M19 and smoking up some rock salt rounds after they’d exhausted their existing supply on a ghost hunt a couple days back. So Dean was currently sitting by the library table, definitely not for it’s intended use, and busy dismantling the M19 with the focus of a Maths professor. Sam was in the kitchen, probably preparing his rabbit food dinner (Dean gagged a little just thinking about it). Jack was with him and he was sure his little brother would try his damnest to convert the kid to the way of “healthy eating”. Too bad Jack had already tasted the fried, greasy goodies that Dean had introduced him to. There was no coming back from that.

Dean smiled to himself, hands working expertly around the metal of the gun. Speaking of food, Cas should be coming back with his Apple pie anytime now. He was returning from Sioux Falls, after dropping a vampire nest with Claire. It wasn’t that she needed help with the hunt really, Dean knew the kid was one tough cookie and could handle it. Though, it was probably the first time Claire had willingly asked Cas to spend time with her, and it was definitely a big deal for the angel. Even though Cas has been as reserved about showing it as ever, Dean had caught a hint of something between relief and satisfaction as he left the bunker that night.

His angelic best friend deserved it, all of them did—a tinge of happiness until eventually the ball dropped again or Chuck decided that their halftime break was over. For good, this time. He tried not to think about it, but **GOD** was that elephant from the casino he’d trapped Sam and Eileen in. All pink and smug and up in your face. Kinda hard to NOT think about. But thankfully, his train of thought was broken by the sound of the bunker’s main door opening and shuffling footsteps stepping down the stairs. He didn’t need to look up from his current task to know who it was, but he did anyway.

“Cas, hey. How’d the hunt go?”

Castiel walked through the map room, into the library—blue eyes gleaming with the after glow of either a spectacular hunt or seeing Claire after such a long time. Perhaps, both. His left hand was carrying a small plastic bag, with two round containers containing Dean’s favourite dessert. **_Two_** because Cas knew that one pie could never be acceptable, especially if it was prepared at Jacob’s diner in the town. Dean had pointed out that they’d the best pies in the “whole goddamned state of Kansas” exactly once, but Castiel had remembered it and made sure to get them for him.

“As far as vampire nests go, it was an uncomplicated case. But I was surprised by Claire’s exceptionally enhancing hunting skills.”

He settled down the bag next to Dean’s workstation, pulling out the containers and setting them one on top of the other as Castiel took a seat opposite him. He settled in the chair as his eyes followed Dean’s, a little speck of warmth spreading through his vessel as he saw Dean’s rather hard face dissolve into soft crinkles as his lips stretched across his face. Castiel could easily compare the expression to that of a human child’s when given a favourite toy or meal. Well, technically Dean was a child compared to a billion year old angel like himself, so that analogy wasn’t far-fetched and it was certainly enough to bring the lightest hints of a smile over his lips.

“Hah, ‘course she’s kicking ass! Jody certainly has been an influence. And, so have you.”

Dean had his gun almost reassembled when Cas had pulled out the pies and boy did they smell like heaven. Wait no, scratch that—he knew what heaven smelled like, and it hadn’t been like pie, which was a damn shame by the way. Still, the idea of an angel bringing in a heavenly pie seemed pretty amusing to him. Nonetheless, he kept the M19 to the side and reached in to grab one of the containers, grabbing the spork thingy they gave along with it and pointed it towards the angel as he spoke, his voice turning just a bit softer towards the end.

Castiel’s almost non-existent smile disappeared completely and his usual, unreadable face shaped back into the mould. Destroying the Novak family had been the single biggest regret in his millennia-old existence, and every time he had met Claire since the guilt consumed him whole. He could never bring her parents back or give her the childhood that she deserved. Of course, he had tried to make amends after, but he knew that he wasn’t her father and Claire had been clear on that front. So, he had a hard time believing in Dean’s statement. If anything—he’d been the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Yes, over the years Claire had moved on and started a new life of her own with Jody and the girls. She’d saved lives and fallen in love with an equally brave woman as herself. And she’d forgiven Castiel, given a place to him in her life. But that didn’t wash away his doings, his sins. He wasn’t deserving of Claire’s vindication, but still he was glad that she trusted him enough to call him up for the hunt.

“Hey, Earth to Cas. You alright?”

Dean had already picked up on what could possibly make Cas go all quiet all of a sudden. Sure, he wasn’t exactly a Chatty Cathy to begin with, but Dean knew his pauses usually meant something. Right now, the easy guess would be a twenty-something blonde whose name started with a C and rhymed with hair. Cas still carried guilt for Jimmy and Dean couldn’t really blame him because that was kind of a running theme around here. Hell, he’d lost count of the people he felt he’d let down. The people who’d lost their lives on his watch. And he was pretty sure that it was pretty much the same in Sammy’s case too. But he’d also learned that the best way of living through this life was letting go. There were some people that you just couldn’t save and some things that you couldn’t change. As frustrating as it was, it was a default with the life that they lived.

“I—yes, Dean. Claire was the happiest I’ve seen her since…Jimmy. Now with Kaia back home, I think she has found her purpose again. A source of hope and strength. She deserves this, Dean.”

This time when he spoke, his eyes weren’t the dark shade of blue—weighed with all that guilt and responsibility. They had brightened, only if by a small margin, as though Dean’s unspoken thoughts had somehow managed to convey themselves through the air between them to him. Or maybe Dean’s soft facial features had just given them off, as Cas watched his best friend tug off the lid of the pie container.

“Yes, she does. But Cas, buddy, she’s a grown girl now. I’m sure she won’t appreciate you still moping over something you did as a stick-up-your-ass angel. She’s changed. You have too. Like ten years ago, you’d have gone all kamikaze on me if I’d called you just to make a pie run.”

Dean gave him that cheeky smile of his, one that was part charming and part goofy before digging into the beautifully crusted pie. Castiel rolled his eyes in the subtlest way possible, but they were shining with a hint of pure adoration for this stupid human in front of him. It was refreshingly rare to see Dean so carefree, juvenile. He looked a decade younger in moments like these, a length of time which was insignificant in Castiel’s lifetime. Yet, he cherished them the most and locked away Dean’s smile in the deepest pockets of his grace. He had seemingly limitless such moments saved in his angelic memories, like a little heaven created inside of him and they made him happy. Knowing that the Winchesters were safe, that Jack was safe for now made him happy. Dean just being there made him happy.

And it’s what scared him the most too.

The thought of the ancient, menacing primordial entity engulfing him whole and dragging him back to the eternal pit of nothingness pulled him right back into the reality. It ate away at his flickering grace to keep this deal with the empty a secret from the brothers, but it was no use adding in to their already colossal problems. Castiel didn’t believe he could be truly happy anytime soon, not until his family was happy, until Dean was happy. So, he shoved the bubbling dread crawling up his trueform’s spine back down and gave Dean a small smile, reminiscent of the earliest days of his and the hunter’s friendship.

“Well, calling late in the night just for getting dessert is pretty outrageous. I suppose you should be thankful that I don’t have the ‘stick up my ass’ anymore.”

Dean was halfway through the first pie when he blinked up at the angel. He had to bite his lip to avoid the chuckle that almost broke out of his throat to avoid choking on the glorious amount of cream inside his mouth. Instead, he settled for shaking his head and holding his hands up in defeat. He’d never admit it out loud but it was nice to have Cas be sassy once in a while, it reminded him just how human the angel had become over the course of the last decade. He remembered the fierce, no-nonsense, intimidating soldier of the heaven that had walked into that barn, flashy and commanding. His words were still etched into his brain, because that _thing_ had been an unparalleled force of nature, a killing machine that worked on God’s plan. The person sitting before him was the same Castiel, and yet nothing like one he’d first met. He was ‘Cas’, his best friend, his family and probably the most important person in his life along with Sammy.

**_And just maybe something more._ **

The thought didn’t dissipate as soon as it usually did and his eyes were caught by the etchings on the library table just sideways of where they sat. The initials of his brother, mother and himself were engraved into the wood, mirroring the ones from the Impala which was just one of the many things that made the car truly _theirs_. And for the better part of his life, it was only him and Sam and Baby against the world. So it was nice to have another permanent place to mark as theirs. Except this time, it had been well over a decade that Cas had become another constant in his life. No matter how stretched their relationship got, they somehow always found their way back to each other. It sounded like a cheesy chick flick line, but for once Dean didn’t mind it. His eyes skimmed over the letters once more and he understood why something felt missing. Maybe it was time, to show Cas that he was just as much a part of his family as Sammy or his Mom. But of course, his tongue twisted up whenever it was time to talk about these kind of things. So naturally, he kept quiet.

Cas didn’t seem to mind and simply reached for the nearest book and opened it on the table to occupy himself. But the engravings filled more and more of Dean’s headspace as he finished his pie. He sighed briefly, and hoped that the angel didn’t notice as he resumed his task of assembling his gun. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed between them, and Dean knew both of them enjoyed these quiet moments in each other’s company. But as he fixed the Colt’s handle, a thought started forming in his head. However, he waited another half an hour to voice it out, just as he tucked the newly repaired gun into his belt.

“Cas, I’m gonna take Baby for a ride. You wanna tag along?”

Castiel looked up from where he was engrossed in his book about ancient north-eastern pagan deities and his eyes immediately squinted. It wasn’t the first time that Dean had asked him to accompany him to a drive, but it had been quite some time since the last time. More like years. But given the ‘events’ that followed in quick succession in their lives, they really didn’t have time for something as trivial as going for a drive. But this was their rare downtime and perhaps Dean wanted to make the most of it before they got their hands full with Chuck again.

“It’s quarter to twelve, Dean. Are you sure you want to go out right now?”

Dean rolled his eyes before scooping up the containers in his arms and standing up. It was pointless for Cas to be worried about his sleeping pattern, as if he slept more than four hours under ANY circumstances. As if he hadn’t pulled all-nighters on more occasions than he cared to count. If anything, this was actually voluntary—he wanted to spend time with his best friend. So he pulled a face and fixed his eyes on the trench coat wearing figure.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Look, I’m heading out with or without you. I need some air, just thought you could use some too.”

Like he said, not the best with words. He silently cursed himself for making it sound so douchey, but Cas was indifferent and he could swear he even saw a small hint of a smile inching up his lips as he closed the book and stood up as well.

“I suppose I could. Let me just check up on Jack first.”

Dean bit his lower lip at the mention of the nephilim as Cas quietly made his way around the table. He just wasn’t ready to talk about the kid just yet, he didn’t even completely know how he felt about him. But this was Cas, and maybe the only person who he’d actually open up about Jack. Eventually. But right now, he searched his brain for a stupid excuse to come up with when Cas appeared and stood just slightly into his personal space. They’d gotten over that a long time ago though, but the fact that Cas’ soft breath was warming up his skin was enough to settle him down. His blue eyes were fixated on Dean’s greens and here began yet another one of their ridiculous staring contests. And just when Dean thought Cas was probably looking into his head, the angel spoke up, his voice soft and compassionate.

“Dean, I understand that you have mixed emotions regarding Jack. And I’m not asking you to forgive him or forget what he’s caused right away. I know it’s easier said than done. But whatever it is that you feel, just talk to him about it once when you’re ready. I’m sure it will lessen the burdens for both of you.”

Dean blinked in mild surprise, before nodding a bit, his fingers clutching onto the containers. Of course Cas knew what was on his mind, he didn’t even need his angel mojo to figure that much out. Or maybe he was being just THAT transparent, which should be ringing alarm bells everywhere because the last thing he needed to be was readable. Not really the best characteristic in this particular field of occupation. But this was Cas, an ancient celestial being of knowledge worth millions of years, coincidently his best friend of over a decade. Dean knew he could never truly hide himself and his thoughts from the angel, even if he wanted to. Because even if he was successful in doing so, Cas’ single guess would always hit right on the target, immediately cracking through Dean’s temporary walls. And for once, he was grateful for that.

Before he could say any of those things, however, Castiel is already gone—disappearing around the hallway to walk towards Jack’s room in that light, graceful way of his. Dean couldn’t do much but let his eyes trail after the tail of Cas’ trench coat, a thin line of breath escaping his lips. He stood there for another moment, before inadvertently started walking towards the kitchen. And for some absurd reason, the scores tallied in his head—

**Cas: 1 Dean: 0**


	2. “Something More”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean just wants to get some beer to hit the road, but Sam is determined to make his brother open up about his feelings for a certain angel.
> 
> Apparently, alcohol is not the only thing Dean spills around. He’s also brim full with overflowing emotions when it comes to Castiel.

Sam was just finishing up rinsing off the dishes after a dinner of kale-radish salad. It was his original recipe. He’d also offered Jack some, but the young nephilim had conveniently told him that he was getting ‘sleepy’ and slipped out of the kitchen. Sam had rolled his eyes, Dean had certainly started to rub off him. As much as Sam cringed every time he remembered that hippie, amateur Ted Talk giving version of him—something he would’ve been had their Dad been…well, still alive today—that Sam had been absolutely spot on about one thing. Of course, Sam had done research about the health benefits of Kale once they got home, and turns out that extensive love for Kale that his counterpart had was well justified. So, when they went grocery shopping, Sam mostly ignored the glares that Dean gave him every time he picked up a stock of the leafy vegetable.

Speaking of, Dean sauntered into the kitchen a few moments later, with what looked like pie containers in his hands. Typical. He headed straight towards the refrigerator and stashed the remaining pie inside. Right when he was about to close the door, his eyes landed on the six pack he’d bought just earlier that day and a small smirk graced his lips. Well, even if this was just a drive with Cas, everything was always better with a little alcohol in his system.

So, he pulled out the freezer from the bottom pit of their industrial fridge and settled it on top of the counter. He flipped it open and luckily, it was already stocked with ice. He proceeded to pull out the beers and settled them carefully inside the freezer, then closed the lid. Sam, done with the dishes, now leaned against the kitchen island, watching his brother with a partly confused but mostly amused expression on his face. Now, it wasn’t unusual for his brother to drink this late in the night, but he did wonder why Dean had pulled out the freezer, instead of just drinking from the bottle.

“Why in the world do you need the freezer for, Dean? You got a vampire’s head to stow away in there or something?

Dean rolled his eyes to the back of his head, before locking up the freezer and looking up at Sam. Of course his little brother, _ever the nosy little shit that he was_ , had asked that question.

“Wouldn’t that be a dream? But no Sam, Cas and I were just gonna take Baby for a spin outside. Figured some booze wouldn’t hurt.”

Sam couldn’t help the little smile the stretched across his lips. He had a hard time believing that his brother had asked Cas to come with him with his own mouth. It was very rarely that the both of them went for ‘just a drive’ without it being about either hunting or some more world-ending situation. He was pleasantly surprised that his brother had actually taken the initiative to spend time with Cas, but of course the nagging little brother inside of him wasn’t letting Dean off without at least a bit of teasing.

“Yeah, I get that. But just Cas and you, huh? Gotta say, I feel offended Dean.”

Dean wanted to slap that little smirk right off Sam’s face. Not that it would’ve done much good. Sam wasn’t stupid, and he’d certainly picked up on this…thing between him and Cas Dean had stopped denying his feelings for his best friend a long time ago. But admitting it to himself, where he was sure he could keep it hidden away in the deepest pockets of his mind and fessing up to his brother, which would make his feelings all too tangible, baring his most sensitive part naked was a terrifying thought. He didn’t know how to feel about Sammy finding out anyway, but it was more likely than not. If Heaven and Hell and literally everything in between had pointed out this particular thing _very deliciously_ on multiple occasions, it made little sense that his otherwise genius of a brother was oblivious. Yet, Dean immediately rounded up on himself, searching his brain for some fitting line to throw back, anything to get the conversation away from this topic because no, he couldn’t talk to Sam of all people about this.

“Yeah well, sue me for needing some space without you constantly breathing down my neck.”

Dean winced inwardly, knowing that it was a bad comeback, and Sam’s little scoff had made it pretty clear that he was right. His eyes dropped downwards and he took in a deep breath. ‘Talking’ about things had never been one of the Winchesters’ greatest strengths, and even though it had been the cause of most of their problems, that had never improved over the years. Sam remembered their days on the road—Dean charming his way through the ladies, his easy smile winning them over in no time, and always ending up being taken home by one of them by the end of the night. But there had been more than one occasion where he’d caught his brother slip out the exit of the sleazy bars with a dude, all secretive but a glint of excitement in his eyes. Then when he’d come to their motel room, gushing about his latest ‘conquest’, only changing the pronouns—Sam had shut him up and asked him to focus on the case instead. He’d said nothing about what he saw, because that would’ve led to a conversation that neither of them were prepared to have back then.

Sam, however, couldn’t blame his brother for the sheer hesitation he felt. He’d watched him grow under John Winchester’s wing, seen him flourish and blend in effortlessly amongst the toxically masculine hunters, become one of them. Sam could never do that, and maybe Dean never did either. Not completely. It was just another façade that he had to carry in order to get Dad’s approval, to be Sammy’s ideal older brother. Macho, womaniser, a brave ruthless soldier that John would be proud of. Someone that Sam could look up to and learn from. He’d had expectations lend onto him since he was four years old, and he was still under the weight of them.

The Dean he’d watched grew up was not the real Dean. He never was. It was just layers of forced bravery and misplaced loyalty cocooned so strongly around his brother that Dean had convinced himself to become that shell itself. But the years following John’s death, Sam had observed the small cracks building up in Dean’s fortress, watched the shell slowly fall apart, gotten a glimpse of the real Dean. The one who loved cooking and taking care of his sick brother. The one who secretly read nerdy comic book AND Vonnegut at the same time. The one who still watched _Disney_ and loved Taylor Swift for crying out loud! But Sam had never pointed it out, made comments about his less than traditionally masculine likes, because Dean had finally started allowing himself to crack out of being Daddy’s blunt instrument and living life as his own man—Sam knew he had to treat this delicately.

“Hey…you know there’s nothing wrong with this, right?”

Sam knew, because of course he did, goddamnit. His little brother knew him like the back of his hand and, hell he might’ve known it all along. Their life had never been easy, and there was always one big bad after the other that kept hitting them like some goddamn waves of a never-ending sea. They had much greater priorities than caring about something as trivial as who he fucked. He’d come to accept that part of himself a long time ago, and he’d thought it wouldn’t matter in the long run. But now, Sam was looking at him with those honest-to-god puppy eyes, and such a sympathetic look on his face that Dean wished he really had hit him. His fingers gripped onto the edge of the freezer just so that he could have something to hold onto.

“You remember that time when I talked about having ‘something more’ with someone who gets the life? Right, well when we came back home that night I thought it over again for a while and realised that…that maybe you were right. I mean, when has settling down ever worked out for either of us? So, I moved on, never thought of it after. But then, I met Eileen on that Banshee case and…I could see that something more, you know? For us, together.”

Despite the uneasy feeling in his gut, Dean felt a small smile shimmer across his lips. He remembered the way Sam’s face had lit up when he’d first met Eileen, the way he’d talk non-stop about the hunter following the days after the Banshee hunt, the way his ears would heat up every time Dean or Cas mentioned Eileen. They both so hopelessly wanted each other, you could see the pure affection that they held in their eyes. Sam really deserved this, they both did—deserved a chance at that ‘something more’ when they put a full-stop to Chuck’s shitty script. And he could’ve pulled out a classic Dean Winchester remark on how his brother was completely smitten with Eileen, if he wasn’t imagining something similar for himself and he could only picture it with one person. Someone with a stupidly big tan trenchcoat and impossibly blue eyes and a weird ass fascination for honey bees. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and just for that quiet second it seemed like a nice life. It was almost perfect. And then it wasn’t—because even if they survived Chuck’s ending, why the hell would Cas want to stay with him?

“What’s your point, Sam?”

Dean did know exactly what his point was, but he wouldn’t for one second let himself believe that he deserved it. That was such a characteristic behaviour for him, and so damn hypocritical. He would go ahead and give a whole lecture to Sam about how he and Eileen were perfect for each other, how he was happy for them and how it was about time that he found happiness with someone for once—but when it was Sam’s turn to return the favour, to push Dean in the direction to pursue his own happiness, he’d dismiss it. Or even worse, _joke it off._

Dean just wouldn’t let Sam or anyone else convince him how much he actually needed this. But if he couldn’t believe in it himself, Sam was damn hell going to make him. Because this wasn’t just about his brother, it was about Cas—his best friend and the closest thing he had to family after Dean. He’d always felt a hollow of guilt pinch inside him every time he remembered all the sacrifices Castiel had made for them. So if the way of giving Cas the slightest bit of happiness was through making his dumbass brother pull his head out of the sand for once, he was going to do that.

“My point is that there’s no reason why you can’t have it. This is Cas we’re talking about, Dean. How many times has the guy come through for us? For you? He’s always been there, even when he had absolutely no reason to. He has always chosen you, over everything else—over _Heaven!_ Why do you think that is, Dean?

All this time, Dean’s gaze was fixated upon a certain fascinating piece of lint on his shirt. How ever, as Sam’s words rang clear in his head, his eyes snapped up to meet his brother’s hazel, determined ones. He’d never really given a thought about Cas’ side of things, about what he wanted. It was always about what Dean needed him to do, and only now was he realising how freaking unfair that was to the angel. Growing up, he only ever had two constants—Sam and Baby. But it had been well over a decade since Castiel had become another mainstay in his life, however fluctuating that might have been. So, he always took Cas’ presence for granted, counted on him to stay right by his side when everything else was falling apart. And Cas did just that, but Dean had overlooked it, like the angel actually had some obligation to them, _to_ _him_.

But after their fight a couple months ago, when Dean’s bullshit had finally driven Cas to leave the bunker, and him behind, he’d really thought that his best friend was gone for good this time. That he’d chosen this for himself—his first **_real_** decision after Chuck had hung up rights to the script and of course his choice wasn’t Dean. Because he hadn’t given him a reason to stay and maybe he had it coming all this while. But eventually Cas had come back, like he always does, on his own terms yes, but he’d come back to the bunker to help out. To help Sam. And he couldn’t even get out an apology to him until he thought it was too late. Hell, he’d have abandoned himself a long time ago if he were Cas—but somehow the angel still found something redeemable enough in him to stay. That thought alone sent shivers down his spine.

“I don’t know what I’m walking on here, Sammy. Cas—he’s too good for me, man. Hell, he’s too good for himself. This, whatever this is will only end up hurting us more. Give that bag of dicks Chuck one more leverage against us? I don’t want to do that. Sam. _I can’t_.”

A heavy sigh escaped Sam’s thin lips as he studied his brother—gaze down and hands gripping the freezer so tightly he might’ve left permanent fingerprints on the plastic. He knew this stance, he’d seen it far more times than he liked to recount. He’d seen it in eleven year old Dean looking at a set of hot wheels through the store window and muttering “Plastic shit.” He’d seen it in twenty year old Dean scoffing at a promposal during their wendigo case at a local high school. He’d seen it when his brother had asked Cas to erase Lisa and Ben’s memory of him. And he was seeing it now—because Sam knew his brother wanted this more than anything, but wouldn’t allow himself to have it because Dean’s self-hatred was much stronger and deep-rooted than his love for Castiel.

Yes, **_Love._** Dean might never be able to put a name to it because he never saw their relationship from Sam’s point of view. The longing in their eyes when they looked at each other, the lingering touches that they thought Sam didn’t notice, their quiet morning coffee routine which Sam made a point not to disturb and hell—even their stupid arguments and bickering. Sam had been in love before and these were all the things that he’d felt, experienced with Jessica. This wasn’t just about Dean, it was also about Cas—his best friend who either had no idea about his feelings for his brother, or was suffering from the same self-depreciating syndrome. They really were two peas in a pod. Sam should’ve stayed out of it, but this silent agony that two of the closest people to him were going through had to be taken care of.

“That’s exactly what Chuck wants, Dean. He knows that you wouldn’t allow yourself to be happy even without him in-charge. What’s the use of finally breaking out of Chuck’s control if you’re still going to play by his strings? This is the thing that’s hurting you, _both of you_ , Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, letting the intensity of Sam’s words wash over him before he shook his head, an almost incredulous laugh tugging at the end of his throat. This was all pointless, and he didn’t understand why Sam was trying so hard to make him believe otherwise. Castiel, an angel of the freakin’ lord, who also coincidently happened to be his best friend of over a decade, would probably want nothing to do with him after all this was over. Dean has caused him enough damage as is, asked more of him than he ever had the right to—how could he even imagine baring his heart to Cas and expect him to reciprocate? He deserved better, so much better than what Dean could give him.

Honestly, Dean just wanted to grab his beer and get the hell out of the kitchen, the bunker—away from Sam and his attempts to convince him to accept a lie. He knew his little brother was only trying to be supportive, but if he stayed here any longer Dean was afraid he’d actually give in to it. Go and blurt our everything he wanted to tell Castiel for years, like an idiot. He knew he’d get rejected and Cas would be so damn gentle about it that it would sting like a bitch. He could live by telling himself that he and Cas never had a chance, than walk around with the angel giving him a guilty and apologetic look every time they shouldered past each other.

Dean didn’t want to ruin their relationship in the hopes of Sam’s ‘something more’. His best friend was far more worth than some damn fantasy of his. And so, Dean tacked his brain once again for something, anything that would give him the excuse to end this conversation right here. But his thoughts were quickly interrupted by one of the lights in the kitchen suddenly blowing off. Sam flinched a bit as his eyes pulled away from his brother and down at the shattered pieces of the glass. Dean wet his lower lip as he instinctively darted around the room for sign of trouble. But a part of him was almost thankful for the intervention.

His relief was short-lived as few more lights blew off and the kitchen fell into a pit of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, this chapter was supposed to be published yesterday but me being the dumbass I am, accidentally deleted the entire freaking chapter I wrote. I had forgotten to save a backup too! So, I finished rewriting it again today with a few adjustments and Voila!
> 
> This chapter shows more of Dean’s internal struggles about his feelings for Castiel with the whole Chuck and free will back drop.
> 
> Also, the conversation with Sam because I absolutely adore their brotherly dynamic. I made the Sam/Jess and Sam/Eileen parallels with Deancas because I love both these ships and um, Jessica deserved better.
> 
> Also the “Castiel’s gets his wings back” tag is added for a reason. Stay tuned to find out! As always reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	3. Angel of the Winchesters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exploding of lights for no apparent reason isn’t something new to the Winchesters. Hell, that’s the basis of their whole business. 
> 
> But when you’ve got GOD on your ass, taking chances backfires in ways worse than death. Both, Sam and Dean know that.
> 
> But when Jack appears with a worried looking face, and Cas is nowhere to be seen—it doesn’t take the brothers, especially Dean to go into full panic mode. 
> 
> What has that son of a bitch gotten himself in now?

Both of the brothers straightened up, and despite the inability to scrounge in the darkness, their practiced eyes locked in a state of common knowledge. Lights exploding randomly might have been a normal occurrence of short fuse in any other household, but for the Winchesters that had never been the case. It was always either vengeful spirits, shitty demons or dick angels dying to have a piece of their ass. But they were in the bunker, which was powerfully warded against everything supernatural, except for angels because Cas and Jack—but there was no reason for an angel to come knocking right now. So that left only one option, and both Sam and Dean swallowed hard when they came to the realisation on who that was. They didn’t expect him to return so soon, hell they weren’t even prepared for it.

Soon enough, their suspicions strengthened as the entire bunker started shaking, like a mini earthquake, but only they were underground. Sam and Dean pulled out their guns, although knowing they were most likely ineffective against whoever was causing this as they quickly stepped out into the hallway, with Dean wincing a bit as the freezer on the counter fell off due to a jerk and the bottles inside shattered and beer spilled all over the clean floor. The bunker went into the emergency lockdown as the lights turned an ominous red, casting dark shadows of their footsteps as they treaded their way vaguely towards the epicentre of the power.

“Son of a bitch, I should’a known Chuck wouldn’t beat around the bush for long.” Dean clenched his jaw tightly, his fingers gripping his trusted M19 as he took the lead.

“We don’t know if it’s him yet, Dean. It could be someone—something else.” Sam offered, but his tone made it clear that he was less than convinced about his own words.

“Yeah, like who? Mary freakin’ Poppins!? Come on, Sammy!” Dean spit out, but there wasn’t any real spite to him. If anything, he was just as scared and uncertain as Sam was—but god forbid if he was going to let it show.

As they progressed down the hallway and came close to the stairs leading into the war room, the shaking stopped abruptly. Dean shared a look with Sam that most likely translated into ‘What the actual fuck?’ and only got a shrug in return as his little brother lowered his weapon. Sam had always been the more rational amongst the two of them, and he knew Chuck would just show up unanimously if he wanted to, without a warning. He’d never put on a show like this before. That bastard had been a lot of things, flashy wasn’t one of them.

“Okay, what the hell’s going on here?” Dean ran a hand over his mouth, clear distress painting over his green irises.

Sam almost opened his mouth to give an answer that most likely wouldn’t satisfy his brother, when they saw a figure walking towards them from the opposite side of the hallway. Both of them immediately retracted back in their fighting stance and trained their guns on the approaching entity. But when the figure snapped its fingers, the gloomy red lightning changed back to the bunker’s original off-white and they could finally see who was standing in front of them—both of their expressions something of a mix between confusion and worry.

“Jack? Are you…okay?” Sam was the first to ask, as he tucked his gun back into his belt but maintained his distance from the kid.

Dean just glanced between his brother and the nephilim, his weapon lowered but still clenched tightly in his hand. So all this was Jack? What, he had some sort of a freak out over _The Lion King_ ending? But no, Jack had been having a better control over his powers these days, since he’d gotten his soul back and there was no way he felt threatened about something in the bunker to squabble out like that.

“I—yes, Sam I’m fine. But there’s something you need to see.” Jack looked first at Sam, then Dean with concern and even a hint of guilt swirling in his blue eyes. That dumb _Bambi_ look, as Dean called it. It reminded him of Cas, though his eyes were an even deeper shade of blue, the most intense pair Dean had ever seen. And then it hit him. Cas was with Jack, wasn’t he?

 _Shit_.

Dean stopped for a moment before squandering past Sam and catching up to Jack as he reached out and kept a wide palm on the nephilim’s shoulder, looking down firmly at him, his voice both calm and tight as he spoke.

“Where’s Cas, Jack?”

Sam blinked in confusion as Jack stared up at Dean, his eyes finding it hard to keep eye contact. Instead he turned his head back to where he came from, as if silently pointing in that direction.

“He’s still in my room. Don’t worry, he’s just—you have to see this. Please.”

Dean took in a sharp breath as he nodded curtly and let go of Jack, turning his gaze to meet Sam’s briefly before waving a hand off to gesture the kid to take the lead. Jack just turned around and started walking, both the brothers falling in line after him. Dean didn’t even know what to expect, but he just found himself silently praying; hoping that Cas was okay. He felt Sam squeeze his shoulder as they neared Jack’s room and suddenly Dean was hit with a sense of familiarity.

_Déjà Vu. Nostalgia._

There was that waft of sizzling electricity and pouring rain in the air, even though it was damn near summer outside. It was the smell of the open road, with the coldness of ozone mixed in.

It smelled exactly like it had that night, twelve years ago, when Dean first met him—Castiel, the angel of the lord—had walked through the doors of that godforsaken barn for the very first time and his life hadn’t been the same ever since. Suddenly, he shuddered at the idea of what was waiting for him in Jack’s room, but he cramped those hesitations inside and followed the younger man, the layer of ozone getting thicker with every step, threatening to drown him in.

Finally, all three of them were just outside Jack’s room, standing close to the entrance but not quite in front of it. Sam took in a deep breath, probably prepping himself up for going in. Dean didn’t follow his suit, the scent of the atmosphere around him was all too alluring and suffocating at the same time—because it was all Castiel and yet it was nothing like _Cas_. Jack was silent, clearly waiting for one of them to make the first move.

“Alright, I’ll go in. Both of you, after me.”

As much as Dean didn’t want to, he took the lead because that’s what he did the best. Dive head first into unknown situations like these. And he always came out mostly okay, so what was stopping him now?

However, of all the things Dean had expected, nothing would’ve prepared him to see what, _who_ stood in front of him.

It was Castiel, right in the stark middle of the room, standing next to Jack’s bed with only his suit pants covering his body. The fairly muscular curves of his arms that blended into his jutting collar bones, down to his firm, toned stomach and peeking hipbones would’ve been a savoury sight for Dean if his eyes weren’t fixated on the appendages extending from either side of Cas’ back.

There were enormous, shiny black feathers placed in geometric perfection alongside long blade bones as they stretched out and contracted in. A single wingspan took almost half the room, which was saying something because Jack had one of the biggest rooms in the bunker. They fluttered as Cas gently shook them, the tips of the lower-most feathers touching the ground. Dean’s eyes caught every detail of Cas’ new pair of arms and suddenly felt his throat go raw, he grew weak in the knees because Castiel’s _Wings,_ all unfurled and unapologetic, were—

**_They were friggin’ beautiful._ **

Except they weren’t supposed to be. Cas’ wings were fried after that whole shitshow with Metatron went down, when the angels fell and became flightless birds with chipped feathers. And they sure as heck weren’t supposed to just _manifest_ themselves. He remembered seeing only the shadow of Cas’ wings the first time around, and that had scared the crap outta him. But now, seeing them up close _physically_ , in all their former glory—Dean was speechless.

Castiel lifted his head up to Dean, blue meet green and it was like they were back in that barn again, because Cas looked different, almost like he was rejuvenated. His hair, they were the same messy bunch, sticking up in all directions. The lines of battles and age that had come with fading of his grace were all smoothed out, instead leaving behind the face of that tax accountant in his early thirties that had raised him from hell. It was almost like Dean had travelled back in time. But this time though, his blue eyes weren’t hardened with the righteousness of being God’s smitey weapon, an agent of the divine destiny. Instead, Cas’ features were soft, his head turned to a side, with lips turning upwards into that very gentle almost-smile of his. When he spoke after a beat, his voice was deep and warm, completely lacking the icy undertone of that soldier of heaven who he now resembled.

“Hello, Dean.”

And Dean let out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding in.

* * *

_  
Castiel was headed down the hallway towards Jack’s room, having just finished up a conversation with Dean. There was glint of satisfaction on his face, even a little smile tugging at the end of his lips. Dean had asked him to accompany him to a quiet ride outside, and the thought of being alone with the hunter for a while sounded quite pleasing to him. During their conversation earlier, Castiel had picked up on Dean’s mental turmoil and given their circumstances, with Chuck looming over their heads and the time for the final battle swiftly closing in—he couldn’t really blame the hunter. He also knew that Dean had invited him outside to clear his head, perhaps to ‘vent out’ about whatever was on his mind, bothering him. Cas would gladly offer some advice to his troubled friend, or maybe just lend a listening ear. Sometimes that’s all Dean needed to find comfort and Castiel was well aware of it._

_As he neared Jack’s room, Cas sensed the nephilim’s energy and for the first time in a week, he didn’t appear to be completely distressed. Of course, there were still pockets of guilt and regret echoing off his soul, but he was holding himself up better than before. He remembered seeing Jack after he’d gotten his soul back, how he wouldn’t stop blaming himself for Mary’s death, how his tears flowed unrestricted and how he’d enveloped his son in his arms—trying his best to console him. He’d felt his insides twist into a painful bunch after witnessing Jack being broken apart emotionally, and only then he understood how Mary must’ve felt about her two boys. He’d always been empathetic, even before his fall from grace, but he’d never quite grasped the penultimate love humans held for their offsprings._

_He did now._

_Sam had long since forgiven the nephilim, knowing that Mary’s demise wasn’t entirely Jack’s fault, and Cas was thankful for that. Sam had always been the more forgiving of the two brothers, and Cas been the recipient of his kindness many times—even when he truly didn’t deserve it. Dean, on the other hand, he had a hard time letting go of things, people. Even now, after decades of being a seasoned hunter, he took it the hardest whenever there would be any unfortunate death during a hunt. Dean had always been an emotionally volatile man—wearing his heart on his sleeve and loving his family with his entire being. This was his mother, who he’d lost at a very young age, the catalyst for his entrance into the hunting life—Cas understood Dean’s anguish of losing her a second time._

_Dean projected his feelings onto other people, and those frequently included anger. It was almost always misdirected at the person who was in the closest proximity, and that frequently happened to be Cas. For many years now, he had been the recipient of Dean’s harsh words and managed to tell himself that it was the circumstances they were in, and not truly the hunter that was speaking. But of course, he wasn’t a being of infinite patience and inevitably it had run out after their fall out a few months back. Dean put the blame for Mary and Jack’s deaths on him, even accused him of being responsible for Rowena’s. Cas couldn’t make himself stay after such a severe allegation. He was already hurting due to his father’s betrayal and his son’s death—but having Dean rub salt on his wounds had been the nail in the coffin._

_Eventually, he had returned to the bunker after spending some time with himself, figuring out where he stood in the new world order. Trying to find a purpose to dedicate his grace towards, because being wayward had been a terrible experience. He was convinced that he’d only come back for Sam, to help him and try to make sense of his bullet wound connection—but deep somewhere he knew it was also for Dean. As infuriating it was, he knew he could never truly abandon the hunter, not when he had given up everything else for him. Maybe he’d be regretting some of those choices, but he wouldn’t necessarily take them back. Dean was like a festering scab on his wounded grace, every bit of him stung, too sensitive to touch. But without him, Cas knew he would bleed out. That’s why he was tethered to the older Winchester, had been for a decade now._

_So, for better or worse, he was here. He was **needed** here. Not just as their angel muscle, but because the Winchesters wanted him around. As Family. After his second trip to Purgatory, being in that realm of purity again, Castiel’s feelings had realigned in a new light. Dean’s prayer—so brimful of his rawest emotions, the words probably the most heartfelt the hunter had ever spoken to him. Castiel had felt Dean’s vulnerability, the turmoil of his soul even with the distance between them. Despite his exceedingly reduced powers, his connection with the hunter had been just as strong as the day they’d first met in hell. Dean’s sincerity, his desperation, his unadulterated fear at the thought of losing him was enough to bring a tinge of hope in Castiel’s eyes despite the grim situation he had been stuck in. It was more than enough to lend his grace the strength to fight off leviathans._

_When Dean had embraced him after their reunion, he’d wordlessly said so much. The way he’d squeezed the angel’s back, rested his chin on his shoulder and breathed him in—Castiel knew what that signified. Dean was apologetic, still trying to make sure that he was really there, and not some hallucination. His green eyes were dulled out in the grey contrast of Purgatory, but when he pulled away, Castiel could see a glimmer of overwhelming relief return to them. That was the proof that Castiel needed—to know that **this** was the Dean Winchester he’d rebelled against heaven for all those years ago and not the angry, grieving hunter who’d said those bruising words to him which the angel now knew that he didn’t mean._

_So once again in Purgatory, they’d found each other, in a metaphorical sense than literal and more profoundly. They knew where they stood with each other, and for the time being that was enough for Castiel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where the Angel Wings tag comes in. Don’t worry, there’s a reason why Castiel has his wings back.
> 
> I’d like you all to imagine that the Cas physically looks like Castiel from Season 4, but only he’s still CAS and not the douchebag angel of the lord.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, reviews are appreciated. And thank you for the lovely comments on last chapter!!


End file.
